Runaway
by Rei Helen
Summary: The beginning of the Krissen saga...set perhaps a hundred years or so after the days of Daine and Alanna...a mercenary in Tusaine lives a normal life, but she has a secret power that could save her--or destroy everything she loves.
1. The Last Night

The Last Night

The Last Night

Krissen came into the infirmary tent and gasped. "Ashira! You're a wreck! Even mages have to rest, and you look like you haven't slept in days!" Her friend's face was streaked with blood, and though none of it was her own, she looked more like she'd belong on one of the cots than she did a healer.

"I had to help them," Ashira replied. "I can't just let them die."

"I'm not going to let you die, either, the way you're draining yourself! Wasn't it _you_ who taught _me_ not to overreach myself? And besides, the state you're in, you'll do these poor soldiers more harm than good." She sighed, noting Ashira's reluctance. "We're getting three healers from Kelthan's company. They weren't hit as hard as we were, and they've got plenty to spare. You need to get some sleep, or you're going to end up killing yourself!"

"Maybe you're right," Ashira sighed. "I hate it when you're right." She smiled, but with none of her usual enthusiasm. Instead, she looked almost pitiful. Krissen wondered how she could still be standing.

"Come on. We should get you back to your tent, and I'll brew you some of that stuff you always make me drink after a battle. You should be well enough tomorrow morning to tend to what needs doing."

"Tomorrow morning? The sun hasn't even set! I should be back on my feet in--"

"Were we to switch places, you'd tell me to do the same," Krissen said seriously. "We lost Andri to an arrow yesterday, we're not going to lose you to exhaustion. We need all the mages we can get!"

"I suppose you're right," Ashira replied. "But someone needs to make sure the other mages don't ruin the job I've begun." That was one problem with Ashira--she didn't trust the other healers to know what to do as well as she did. There were five mages in the ranks of their company--there had been six until yesterday--and all of them but one were trained in healing.

Krissen Heransra and Ashira Keliri were nearly ten years apart. The two women looked as different as night and day. Ashira was dark, of K'miri descent, and Krissen was from Scanra. When Krissen joined the company nine years ago, Ashira had recognized the girl's Gift and immediately began training her. She seemed to have a talent for thread magic, so Ashira taught the girl all that she knew of that subject, and even found books for Krissen to study on it. However, three years after Krissen joined, two brothers with an amazing amount of the Gift joined, and several scouts were killed. Krissen's secondary position was with the scouts, and now she wasn't so much needed with the mages as with them. She was an amazing swordswoman, her Gift giving her speed and agility. Watching her fence was enough to take your breath away, she moved so gracefully and quickly. However, she couldn't hit a haystack with three arrows out of ten (though her aim was improving of late) and she was rather clumsy much of the time.

A boy ran up to them, and cleared his throat. He couldn't have been more than sixteen--one of the new recruits, Krissen guessed. "Scout Heransra?" he asked, giving her a salute.

"That's me," Krissen replied.

"Letter for you." He gave her an envelope, saluted again, and scurried off.

"From your brother?" Ashira asked.

Krissen checked the address. "Yes. Did I tell you he's studying in Corus now?"

Ashira shook her head. "Last I heard, he was in Tyra."

"What am I doing, keeping you awake with my babbling? You get to sleep, I'll supervise your mages for you."

"All right..." sighed Ashira, and she left to go to her tent. Krissen returned to the healing tent, and kept an eye on the other healers as she read her brother's letter.

_Dearest Sister,_

You must find the time to come visit me here in Corus. The library here is amazing--even more extensive than that of Tyra! I've been able to find out much of the information I seek, including books written when the barrier between the Realms of the Immortals and our own world were broken, about two hundred years ago. These texts would be fascinating even to you, I believe. Perhaps you could come when your current campaign is finished--I have a house in the city, and there's always a place for you here.

I've also received word that our dear mother is recovering from her illness, if slowly. She told me that she would consider forgiving you for your "stray from reason" if you would "give up these silly notions of being a warrior, and act as a lady should". Those are her exact words. Eleven years since you've decided you wanted to be a swordswoman, and she still hasn't accepted it. I'm proud of you, though. I hear you've made quite a name for yourself among mercs...

"There you are!" Geran and Julika practically pounced on her. Krissen jumped.

"We were hoping you could provide some music for us!" Julika said.

"To celebrate our victory," added Geran.

"Some victory," Krissen replied, motioning to those lying injured in the healing tent.

"Come on, please. Jesserd's volunteered to sing, but he needs some kind of backup," Julika pleaded.

"All right, all right..." sighed Krissen. "Let me find my flute."

Before she had decided to learn the sword, Krissen had been forced to take music lessons. She had no singing voice, but she played the flute rather beautifully--and now that she wasn't being forced to play it, she learned that she actually enjoyed music. The others appreciated her talent, and playing the music gave her an excuse not to dance at celebrations. She had taken dancing lessons, but they hadn't seemed to take.

And playing gave her an excuse to be isolated. She just didn't feel attracted to anyone she'd ever met, male or female. Her best friend was a lesbian, but Krissen had never felt attracted to her in that way, and if there was anyone Krissen loved, it was Ashira. That and Nikain--she had friends, but none nearly as close as those two. If something were to happen to one of them, her balance would be completely destroyed.

She played a popular tune on the flute, a song called "The Price I Would Pay". It was actually rather short, but she had to play it several times to satisfy the audience. Jesserd seemed to know more verses than she did, though, so it wasn't such a chore to hear the same tune over and over again. She rather liked the song, even though it was a love song, which she usually didn't have much patience for. The tune was really very pretty, and the words weren't as sickeningly sweet as most other love songs.

A crowd gathered, dancing, talking, drinking, and just having a good time. Despite the injured and dead, they had won, and they were celebrating their victory. Those who had lost those close to them could find alcohol-induced forgetfulness, and the others were truly out to just enjoy themselves.

For some of them, it was the last time.


	2. Ambush

Ambush

Ambush!

_Noise--screaming--shouting--it's too damned early for this!_ Krissen sat up in bed and yawned, then looked out of her tent to see what the commotion was.

_Great Mother, they're attacking the camp!_

She dressed just enough that she was presentable, and fixed her sword and scabbard to her belt. She slid her riding boots onto her bare feet, knowing that they'd be terribly sweaty, but she didn't know if she had the time to find socks. Was the way to the stable still open?

Fortunately, it was. She ran to the stable and saddled her horse, Starsong, as quickly as possible. Others in the company were there, preparing their horses and riding out to fight the ambushers.

They thought they had defeated these bandits soundly enough to scare them off--why were they launching such an attack now, and where did they come up with all these men? Krissen didn't know there was that much scum in the world!

She drew her sword and muttered a Scanran curse. She was happy that she had not been drinking last night, or this would have been even more unpleasant to wake up to. Not that things could get much worse…

_The bastards must've planned this. Let us think we've won, then catch us off guard. And we fell for it, like a fish taking bait…_ she spurred Starsong grimly and rode into the thick of the battle.

Kris took down a few of the bandits, but they kept coming, and there was no way that their troops could take them all! She fought her hardest, slashing with all her strength and thanking the gods that her horse was well enough trained to keep her on its back. She shared the opinion with most mercs that the only good fight was a fair one, and this was not a fair fight!

_You don't last long in this business with high ideals and morals, but we do have some honor, which is more than I can say for these bandits! Well, there's one benefit there, at least. I needn't feel guilty about killing them._ All too often, Kris found herself pitted against someone like her, fighting because they'd been hired, only luck putting them opposing her. It was just he job to try to kill them, as it was their job to come after her. And then, in the next campaign, the same people might be fighting beside her.

_What a business we run here. But I didn't have a choice, I certainly couldn't join the regular army. And what other job could I have taken?_ Still, it was no consolation for her lonely life in the company. She tried not to get too close to anyone else in the company, knowing that they might be killed in the next month, week, or even day. Avoiding contact had become a reflex…

There was no other road she could have taken, though. She was good at the flute, but not nearly good enough to be a bard. She had learned to sew, but that was usually a wreck. She was useful in mending uniforms, but… _I certainly wasn't suited to be the noble wife my parents wanted me to be. I'm awful with children, I don't like cooking, I can't dance, and I hate makeup. Still, this life is awful lonely, at times…_

She cried out, a wordless scream of pain as a sword bit into her arm. She whirled around to neatly behead her assailant, then looked down to assess the damage.

_Oh, Mithros. It must've gone almost halfway through…_ Red blood stained the white sleeve of her uniform, and the pain was nearly enough to make her lose consciousness.

"Got…to…keep fighting…" she grunted through clenched teeth. "Must…stop…them…" It wasn't encouraging her much, though. "Can't let…these damn bandits…win…" She kept herself going by telling herself what they'd do if she weren't there to fight. For some reason, death didn't frighten her now—it only did after a battle, when she realized how close she had been. But there might not _be_ a chance to remember for her…

She ripped the other sleeve off her shirt and used it as a bandage, at least temporarily slowing the bleeding. Then she plunged into the thick of the battle again, the pain almost too much to bear, but she had to. She had to fight…

Krissen deflected another attack, but the sword meant for her took her horse instead. Starsong went down with a cry of agony, and Kris took a moment to catch her breath. She could already smell blood, and the filth of these bandits was almost too much to bear in itself, but now a new scent entered her nose. It smelled like—what was that smell?

Smoke? 

_Great Mother!_

She turned to see what she already knew she would see, but hoped she was wrong. Unfortunately, she wasn't. The healing tent was going up in flames!

A cold, deadly rage took over her. She forgot her pain, forgot the masses pressing around her, forgot everything but these damn bastards and what they had done.

_They've broken every rule of war—every single rule of honor, and every rule of human compassion! They're inhuman. Scum. They'd kill their own grandmother for a copper penny—no, just for the sheer fun of killing._ Her hair began to stand on end, as the air around her was glowing with deep gray fire, slowly pushing everything away from her. _They're wrong. Scum like this shouldn't be allowed to exist. They're killing innocents, and they're doing it because they like it! I hate them, I hate _everything _about them, they deserve to die a thousand deaths and then endure eternal punishment in the Black God's realm!_

Now her gray border erupted in white fire, in a circle around her that shot up several meters into the sky. She stood alone in the center, arms upraised, hair blowing in every direction, and glowing intensely. A storm gathered, and lightning struck the space between her upraised hands, where it stopped, convulsing, waiting for a command. Kris's eyes were closed—her targets were in her mind, and she could see every one of them perfectly. She sent gray lighting down the neck of the bandit that took down her horse, and the other members of her company gaped in shock as lighting struck their enemies.

Within the circle of fire was an area of calm—other than the lightning that crackled in Kris's hands, it was like the eye of the storm. With the lighting storm came rain, dousing the flames in the healing tent. Lighting continued to strike, but it never hit a member of the mercenary company. Finally, the storm subsided, when only a few bandits were left standing, and those were in enough shock to be easily captured by the remaining mercs for later questioning. The leader was dead—Kris had paid special attention to his death, and his charred remains were nearly unrecognizable.

As the storm subsided, the wall of fire also died, and those who were looking saw it fall just in time to see Kris collapse, all signs of magic gone, just a pathetic-looking body sprawled on the ground.

"May they get what they deserve…" she whispered hoarsely, then consciousness left her completely, and she met with welcome darkness.


	3. Flight

Flight

Flight!

__

I'm...alive?

Awareness came to her slowly, and with it pain. She took a moment to take in her surroundings, and saw that she was in a tent, the same style as hers, though not her own. She looked at herself-her arm was wrapped in white cloth, blood still seeping through the bandaging.

__

The healers should've been able to take care of that, Kris thought, confused. _What happened?_

"Kris! You're finally up!"

"Julika?" She looked up to see her old friend. "What happened?"

"What do you mean, 'what happened'? We were ambushed! How can you ever forget that?"

"I think I remember..." Kris could remember the ambush, and the injury to her arm-but there was something she was forgetting...

"You saved us, Kris. I don't know how you did it, but if you hadn't we'd all be dead."

"I-what did I do?" Her mind seemed to be blocked. Her horse had been killed, and then-then _what?!?_

"Some kind of magic thing-you know I don't understand that stuff! You'd have to ask one of the mages, except-except-" Julika's face fell.

"Except _what?!_" Kris demanded, feeling somewhat irritable.

"Except that you were the only one with the Gift that survived," Julika sighed. "As it is, about a third of the company's wiped out, and another third's hurt." Kris let it sink in for a moment, and then cried out.

Ashira-dead? No, that couldn't happen! She had been alive just-just-

"How long have I been asleep?" Kris demanded.

"Two days," Julika replied.

"Did Ashira die in the fire?" Krissen asked slowly.

"She was trying to get as many of the injured out as she could. Not thinking about herself," Julika said. Tears were beginning to come out of her eyes, too. "I'm sorry-I know how close you two were-"

"Can you leave me alone? Please?" Kris asked. Julika nodded and made a quick exit.

__

How could they kill Ashira? She was my only close friend... How could they take her away from me? And whatever I did, it wasn't quick enough to save her...

What did I do? Julika said I saved everyone! But I don't know that much magic, how could I pull off so great a spell?

The answer finally came to her. 

__

I lost control. She shivered, as she realized what a dangerous realization that was. _If I did it once, I'll do it again, and I won't be so lucky as to have an enemy to lash out at._

That really scared her, and her mind continued on the same wavelength._ If I wiped out the bandits, what's to stop me from wiping out my company? I never learned to control my Gift very well--there's the biggest mistake I've made in my entire life! Why didn't I listen to Ashira? And now Ashira's gone, I've failed her!_

A piece of paper on the table beside her bed caught her eye. It was a note worth quite a bit of money, signed by the captain, as a bonus for killing all the bandits. Her eyes widened-that was enough money to get anywhere in the Eastern Lands! _Go anywhere-that's it! I can leave! If I'm not near my company, I can't attack them! And maybe I'll find a teacher, so I can learn control!_

But-where could she go?

There was another paper on the nightstand, her letter from her brother. He said she was always welcome there...

__

There are plenty of magicians in Corus! I'm sure one would teach me! She actually smiled, and got out of her bed. Her legs were fine, though weak after two days of disuse. It was about an hour after sunset, but the camp looked rather empty already. Although they had won the last battle, the company was in a time of mourning, not rejoicing. Many of the dead had been burned in the fire during the attack, but those dead on the battlefield had to be cremated, and she could see the light of the cremation fires still burning.

She came to her tent and packed as if in a daze, taking what she needed and leaving what she didn't. She wrote a short note, just to say that her injury was crippling, and ended her contract, so she was leaving the company. She left it on her bed and headed for the stables.

Her second mount, Morning Star, was alive and well, much to Kris's relief. She saddled the mare quietly, led her out of the stables, and set her bags behind the saddle before mounting the horse.

"We're going to Corus," she whispered.

__

The Dancing Dove was as busy as usual, so no one noticed the newcomer. A woman who'd not been there before, a woman who kept rubbing her arm that had been healed-for free-by a healer she'd just met! What a strange place Tortall was! She was pretty, with short blond hair and big gray eyes, but there was no shortage of pretty women in the Dancing Dove. Even her odd uniform didn't make her stand out.

However, her grip of the language was far from perfect, and she got a funny look when she asked for a glass of cider. She took it to a seat by the fire, and watched the people coming and going. Her mind was on something completely different. How would she go about finding a teacher? Would her brother know anyone?

A man caught her eye. He was dressed in everyday clothes, but carried no visible weapon, so he was probably either a Shang warrior or a mage. When he pulled out a book, Kris decided that the second guess was the correct one.

Everything inside her told her to go over to him and talk to him, the strength of her desire to do so frightening her. Strong emotions were what made one lose control...

But he was a mage, she reasoned, and would be able to teach her. And perhaps help her with the Tortallan language...

"What are you reading?" she asked nervously.

"Hmm?" The man looked up, and she noticed the black streak in his blond hair. "This? It's not much, really." He didn't go back to his reading, but stared at the young woman standing beside him. "You can sit down, if you like."

"Thank you," the woman replied. She sat beside him. "So, you're a mage?"

"Yes...my name's Zeddicus. Zeddicus Zorander. Call me Zedd, though. I don't believe I've met you before...?" the man trailed off.

"Probably not, but I'd like to ask your help all the same."

"What can I do for you?" Zedd asked good-naturedly.

"Teach me...Tortallan? Please?" the woman asked.

Zedd's eyes widened. "All right," he said. "And what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't tell you yet, but my name is Krissen. Krissen...Keliri."

The Beginning...


End file.
